Friday, December 29, 2017

When Eric
Claptondeclaredrecently that “maybe the
guitar is dead” he clearly didn’t consult Malina Moye, the maverick left-handed axe slinger
who is inspiring new generations of electric guitar players to rock on. Featuring her signature fusion of rock, funk
and blues, Moye’s eagerly awaited new album,“Bad As I Wanna Be”,is
set to drop in March 2018. Over the past decade, Moye has received
acclaim for her trailblazing work and was named one of “The Top 10 Female
Guitarists to Know”, by Guitar World Magazine. In a career that’s spanned the globe, she’s
performed for the Queen of England, played in the Experience Hendrix Tours, and
been featured at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's tribute concert for music
pioneer Chuck Berry. Her“Led Zeppelin meets Sly and the Family Stone,
with a little bit of Hendrix thrown in” 2014 record “Rock
& Roll Baby” (which featured
funk icon Bootsy Collins and was dubbed “insanely good” by Guitar Magazine) garnered three Billboard charting singles on
various charts in the Top 40.

Moye
describes her upcoming album as a “celebration
of self [and the cover] image personifies an empowered woman who is her own
super hero.” As one of the only internationally
renowned African American women rock guitar players, Moye is acutely aware of
the role racism, sexism, and white supremacy play in stunting the careers of
women of color in the music industry.
Despite posthumous
acknowledgment of the influence of rock guitar pioneer Rosetta Tharpe, there
are no black women or women of color on Rolling Stone’s “Top 100” guitar
players list. And for the largely white
male gatekeepers of RS, only a few white women merit inclusion in the
pantheon of blues and rock “gods” who have sold mega millions, influenced
scores of musicians, and indelibly shaped global pop culture. As Moye notes, “Because of where we are as a
nation, it’s obvious there are still underlying prejudices in America's DNA. I
feel sometimes it's important to start a conversation about issues like the
absence of diverse women in certain areas of the music industry. It’s about
redefining the status quo and being unapologetically you.”

In a hyper-segregated
industry that has long thrived on ripping off black folks’ invention of rock
music, Moye is constantly innovating, collaborating, and wrecking
respectability politics. During our recent interview about her new album we
discussed her upbringing as a musical prodigy, the need to mentor black women and
girls of color, and the perennial question of “Why (it) is that our people feel
rock is not part of our black culture?”

How did you start playing electric
guitar and what messages did you receive about playing this “male” instrument
when you were growing up?

My mom and dad were big influences. I grew up in a musical family and my dad gave
me a guitar at seven years old but I didn’t really take to it until nine. He gave me a right-handed guitar, but that
didn’t work for me because I was left-handed, so I flipped it over and learned
how to play it upside down because it felt more natural. My technique is rare. I actually play with
the guitar strung in reverse (upside down) like Albert King famously did in the
60s, and like today’s Eric
Gales and Doyle Bramhall, who are also upside-down lefties, on the
Experience Hendrix tour.

Even in
the beginning, I was so focused at nine years old. I was walking my own path and following my
own beat. I told my parents that I
wanted to do music, turned professional at twelve, and started a band with my
brothers. I was told that I was obsessed,
but, in my mind, this was just normal.
My cousins wanted to watch cartoons and they said I was always like, ‘hey,
we have to rehearse’. We would perform
at night with the band and go to school in the morning.

I was born
in Ohio but grew up in Minnesota in the late 80s. The Minneapolis sound merges funk, rock and
soul and it is my DNA as a musician,
especially growing up listening to Prince.
In Minneapolis, the musicians would add distortion to the guitar which
followed funk rhythm and bass lines, with elements of synth-pop. I remember my
mom driving my band to one of the Minneapolis clubs as kids where I asked one
of Prince’s horn players to record on my album.
The guy was so blown away that he brought his entire horn section to the
studio and I had all the horns play on my album. That’s what made me realize
everything is possible—when people responded positively to what I was doing at
such a young age. Growing up as one of the only black kids in school and in the
community, I learned how to embrace being different than everyone else while
going after what I wanted. This alone has helped me navigate in the current rock
music industry and I’m thankful for it.

Who were some of your superheroines
growing up? My mom
Scelesteen is no joke. She didn’t take
shit from anybody and she told me that you can do anything in this world that
you want to do. She was ruthless,
amazing, and full of love, but she went through so much in life. If the house
was burning down she would say ‘we can have a pity party for five seconds’ and then
we would have to keep it moving. My grandmother was also another major
influence in my life. She made sure that
everyone ate and everyone knew love. We were
never made to feel like we were poor and didn’t have anything. I also admire Sheila Nevins, Oprah Winfrey, Michelle
Obama, and any woman who actually stands up for herself and makes something
work.

Who are some of your primary
artistic influences? Growing up with musical parents, I listened to an eclectic
palate of music spanning several decades. At home, we played Mahalia Jackson, Prince, Tina Turner, Stevie Ray
Vaughan, and Michael Jackson. Recently, I’m loving Eminem and Bruno Mars.

What challenges have you encountered
in the music industry vis-à-vis racism and sexism?

Certain
avenues are not available to you when you’re the first person doing these
things. But one of the great things is
now folks can create and control their product.
Money gives you access to do certain things. Take Rosetta Tharpe, who was just inducted
into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and is now being considered the actual
architect of rock music. There are few black women in rock overall and even
fewer who are playing electric guitar. For instance, some great players who
should be recognized more are Kat
Dyson, Diamond
Rowe, and Jackie
Venson. We have to redefine the status quo.
I want to play my part and help folks rethink how black women are
perceived in entertainment. Ask yourself,
which women, let alone black women, are in the top twenty on the rock charts? I
want to encourage mainstream rock artists to diversify by putting other unique artists
in front of their shows as support acts whom their audiences ordinarily
wouldn’t see. That [kind of exposure] trickles down to playlists and to radio;
and maybe it will make the old guard rethink their programming. It’s important to start a conversation about
the lack of opportunities and representation to provide vehicles for girls of
color to play music. They’ve cut arts
out of schools and underfunded music training. In order to make those avenues
happen we need to educate and force the conversation. So,with Rosetta Tharpe being inducted, maybe now black women and
women in general will start to be included in the rock genre much more.

What advice would you give to young
women of color about navigating the racism and sexism of the music industry? I really take to heart what Dr.
Martin Luther King Jr. said about your life’s blueprint: “[you should have] a
deep belief in your own dignity, your worth and your own ‘somebodiness’. Don’t
allow anybody to make you feel that you’re nobody. Always feel that you count.
Always feel that you have worth, and always feel that your life has ultimate
significance.” Everything that you do,
do it in truth and try to be the best at what you do, and just know that God
will always make a way. There are other
people ahead of you who’ve made their way, which sometimes shows you that you
can at least grasp an opportunity. It’s
important to mentor and raise up young people that are coming up. If you see other kids that are killing it,
highlight them, put them on your Instagram, because that is the new medium. Find
like-minded individuals and don’t let anybody make you feel like you don’t
matter. The hardest thing in the world is to ignore what people think—good or
bad. Do what you know you are put here to do and show up. When they tell you that you can’t do it,
still show up. Make “No” fuel you, and
accept all of those life lessons which are part of your journey. If you see me with my axe doing me, that
means you can do you too. My mantra is, ‘Discover your super power and
celebrate yourself.’

Malina
Moye’s album “Bad As I Wanna Be” will be released in March 2018. For more information check out www.malinamoye.com.

Monday, December 25, 2017

In 1991, African American law
professor Anita Hill’s testimony against Clarence Thomas transformed her into a
feminist icon in the fight against sexual harassment in the workplace. Building on Hill’s legacy, women in corporate
America, state and federal government, college campuses, and the entertainment
industry have exposed perpetrators, challenged victim-blaming, and mainstreamed
a #MeToo movement that was initiated by Tarana Burke, a black woman. Yet, when we turn
on the TV and see debates about this brave, new heightened consciousness, the
faces and voices of black women and girls are often missing. This is despite the fact that approximately 34-50% of African American girls have
experienced child sexual abuse.

As educators and mentors in Los
Angeles schools, we see how they have become fertile ground for unchecked
sexual harassment and sexual violence. In
an informal survey conducted at three South L.A. high schools by the Women’s Leadership Project (WLP),
a majority of girls of color felt unsafe on campus and had experienced some
form of sexual harassment. Some felt
victimized by a jock culture that encourages boys to openly rate girls’ bodies,
sex partners, and desirability, spilling over into toxic social media attacks. As a result of these experiences, respondents
said that they felt less confident about themselves and did not feel supported
at school. For many girls, going to
school in an environment where sexual harassment is normalized can lead to
stress, anxiety, depression, and self-harm.

Dorsey HS, December 2017

Sexual harassment in schools often
takes the form of catcalling, touching, ogling and being called out of one’s
name. Terms like “bitch”, “ho”, “ratchet”,
“thot” (that *h* over there) are frequently used to demean African American
girls in ways that echo their specific history of institutionalized rape and
dehumanization in the U.S. under slavery.
As a form of sexual harassment, use of these terms reinforce a violent
culture and climate that is normalized by a “boys will be boys” mentality. This
mentality is often cosigned by teachers and administrators. As a result, girls find that simply walking
around campus becomes a minefield fueled by widespread ignorance about behaviors
that qualify as harassment.

Shania Malone, a member of the WLP,
and a senior at Dorsey High School who is openly bisexual, says that she has
been harassed by a female student. Malone also shared that she attempts to take
preventive measures to curb sexual comments. "I usually wear my backpack
really low to cover my butt. I also wear clothes to cover up my shape and
curves." Serenity Smith, another senior at
Dorsey, related that she has been made to feel uncomfortable and unsafe at
school. Young men frequently joke about her body. "They think they can say
stuff like: 'I'll blow your back out, your ass is looking mighty fine today,
and your pussy is showing today' and not get into trouble because their
behavior is justified."

The sexualization of black girls
at very young ages contributes to an atmosphere where sexual violence against them
is viewed as inconsequential. If black
girls are stereotyped as “unrapeable”, then everyday sexual harassment is
something that “they bring onto themselves”.

A recent Georgetown University study on cultural perceptions about black girls
concluded that they are widely viewed as more mature, less innocent, and less in
need of protection than white girls. Racist, sexist perceptions such as these
contribute to higher rates of suspension, expulsion, and incarceration among
black girls. According to the African American Policy Forum,
black girls are routinely overpoliced in public school environments. On a
national level, black girls are suspended nearly six times more than white girls, and are more
harshly disciplined for lesser or similar offenses than white girls. Further,
the Human Rights for Girls advocacy organization has concluded that exposure
to “sexual abuse is one of the primary predictors of girls’ entry into the
juvenile justice system.”These factors, coupled with
a culture that condones sexual violence against them, make many black girls
feel that they have nowhere to turn when they are victimized.

Dorsey senior and WLP member Tayah
Hubbard stressed that many black girls feel like they won’t be believed if they
tell someone they’ve been sexually harassed or abused. For Hubbard, “black girls are told ‘oh you’re
strong and you can get through it.” Hubbard sees a connection between the
dearth of social services, after school programs, and counselors in predominantly
black and Latino schools and the high numbers of students who are pipelined into
prisons instead of college.

Hubbard and her peers in the WLP
recently led sexual harassment prevention workshops with classmates of all
genders. But although new sexual
harassment policies are being touted on Capitol Hill and in the State
Legislature, sexual harassment and sexual violence prevention education that speaks
to the specific circumstances of girls of color is not part of the curriculum
in the Los Angeles Unified School District. The #MeToo movement has disrupted the national
status quo of silence and invisibility around sexual harassment, yet, when it
comes to validating the experiences of girls in communities of color, the
silence is still deafening.

Sikivu Hutchinson
is the founder of the Women’s Leadership Project, a feminist high school
mentoring program for girls of color

Ashunda Norris is a
filmmaker, poet, community builder and teacher whose most recent work as a
filmmaker has screened internationally, including Kampala, Uganda and Nairobi,
Kenya. Her writing has appeared in The
Rush Magazine, L.A. School Report
and DC Metro Theatre Arts.

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

"A remarkable novel about a fascinating history...The book does justice to the survivors and victims of Jonestown by forcing the reader to recognize what mainstream discourse has gotten terribly wrong about the tragedy. I encourage anyone who cares about history and the truth to read this book as it goes beyond what existing scholarship would have you believe!" Anita Little, Religion Dispatches

"White Nights, Black Paradise" renders visibility to everyday black women's struggle with race, gender, religion, morality and poverty. The stories of Taryn and the other black members of the Peoples Temple that Hutchinson vividly brings to life makes it clear that while many blacks submitted to the ideal salvation of the racial utopia Jim Jones pushed, this submission of sorts represented black peoples' epic struggle and fight with finding a voice and life in a racially hostile homeland. This is an important and beautifully written story that restores the humanity of the followers of Peoples Temple." Kamela Heyward-Rotimi, Duke University

"Brilliantly woven." African Americans on the Move Book Club"Hutchinson not only provides perspectives underrepresented in the history of the Peoples Temple, she crafts a compelling piece of historical fiction that will grip you until the very end...She has written a valuable work for anyone interested in the intertwined histories of religion, the left, and the African-American Freedom Struggle in this country, one providing important insights for anyone concerned for the future of the progressive movement in America." David Anderson, LA Progressive